


Shades of Violet

by BlastoffSir



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Canon, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Praise Kink, Romance, Slow Burn, Temporarily Unrequited Love, brief sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlastoffSir/pseuds/BlastoffSir
Summary: Triss is consumed by guilt.So when Yennefer of Vengerberg shows up to Kaer Morhen in a weakened state, Triss feels an obligation to not only mend her body, but their fractured relationship as well. With the looming danger of the Wild Hunt, the uncertainty of Ciri's fate, and a shared pain between them both, something unimaginable may be found amidst the chaos.
Relationships: Triss Merigold/Geralt of Rivia (mentioned), Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 17
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! I have returned with my brand new installment in the Trissefer Fandom. There are a couple of points I'd like to clear up before you begin this story, first being, that this is a retelling of the events of Witcher 3. This means I will be using real scenes from the game, and I want to stress that I do not claim to own anything regarding Witcher 3. This also means that some of these chapters may be boring for you to read, as most of you will have already seen/played these scenes, but I didn't want to just skip over them as they are integral parts of the story.
> 
> Secondly, this is a Canon AU. This means that certain events that happen in the game, will be happening in different order in the story. For example, Triss and Keira will already be at Kaer Morhen BEFORE Geralts return from Skellige. Also, "It takes three to tango," Will occur BEFORE Philippas appearance. Please note there will be other instances where things may occur out of the order you are used to.
> 
> Lastly, this is a Trissefer fic. Obviously meaning there will be a lot less Geralt. Events normally led by Geralt will now be led by Triss and Yennefer together, to ya know, make it a Trissefer fic obv.Enough of my explaining! If you choose to read, I hope you enjoy :)

The heavy noise of rainfall pounded off of the shaky glass pane, sending a strangely soothing bass-like echo through the quiet room, reverberating against the cold stone that made up the walls in the rounded tower. One might normally be annoyed to be jerked from slumber from the sheer intensity that such weather could bring, but Triss Merigold found it soothing to the ears, sleep disrupted or not.

She cracked open an eye; her arms lay sprawled against the coarse sheets, though such linens were actually far nicer than the bedspread she had the fortune of laying in the past year of her life that she had spent in Novigrad. Accompanied by what some may call an eerie quiet, in a near-dilapidated keep far too large for the number of occupants inside, was actually a welcome change for her.

If it weren’t for the soul sucking loneliness that plagued her, after having a mere taste, a _tease_ , of having her lovers warm body pressed against her again. She still remembered how his calloused hands felt against her softly perfected skin; the words uttered from his lips in a gruff voice that still echoed in her very heart, when he spoke the three words she had longed to hear since she had first heard such a baritone voice speak aloud.

Just knowing that he wanted her, needed her, _longed_ for her touches the way she longed for his in return.

Now she lay sprawled in his bed, where they first made love that seemed like eons ago, but this time his presence was unfounded. It didn’t feel right, laying here in his absence. The only thing that sated her aching heart was that he should be returning soon, she just _knew_ he was as eager to return to her as she was to see him again.

It was a fickle thing, being in love. Especially under the circumstances they shared. She tried to quiet her heart, knowing very well that even when he returned that there would be other matters that would take precedence over their newly solidified relationship. First and foremost, they needed to find Ciri, and her selfishness would not overshadow that. She understood the importance of it, and she too was fearful in regards to the young girls whereabouts. She too, wanted to ensure Ciri's safety above all.

Then there was the other matter to deal with. The one she had been dreading the most, the one she pushed from her mind in a daily battle, that she felt eating away at her gut slowly, methodically, knowing all too well she deserved the stinging bite of guilt that made her sick whenever it _did_ manage to creep in her mind.

A woman with flowing raven hair and a tongue as sharp as the edge of a sword.

A woman she once called friend.

A woman she had betrayed.

The guilt came hand in hand with it's lovely cousin of jealousy, when she thought of where Geralt was now, where he had been for some time, nearly a worlds away in Skellige with _her_.

But Geralt wouldn’t do that; he assured Triss that it was _she_ he loved, he convinced her to stay on the mainland, to meet him here at Kaer Morhen, that he would go to Skellige to follow his lead on Ciri, to see what Yennefer had found out regarding the ashen haired woman. That was all.

And that he would tell Yennefer that it was through. That his heart belonged to _Triss_.

By the Gods, how she dreaded the awkwardness that was sure to follow him back here. When she had to face the woman that she knowingly broke faith with, a woman that admittedly struck fear into her heart. She always had.

She knew this day would surely come. She would have to deal with the repercussions that she practically asked for, to lie in the bed she quite literally _fucked_ in. It wasn’t as though she was flippant in regards to the damage she's done by any means; of course she felt terrible for hurting Yennefer, but she truly thought the woman was _dead_. She couldn’t help falling in love with Geralt, and then when the truth was revealed that Yennefer had in fact survived, the damage was already done.

At least, that's what she tried to rationalize to herself. Maybe the right thing to do was to end things with Geralt right then and there. Maybe the right thing to do would have been never pursing him in the first place. Maybe, she shouldn’t have led him to believe in his state of amnesia that he never loved the raven haired sorceress to begin with.

But Triss had a nasty habit of never doing the right thing lately.

It could explain why she threw herself into her other affairs, thinking that liberating the mages from Novigrad would somehow give her the redemption she so sorely needed, that she _craved_ , even though she was well aware that the world was not so black and white as she would’ve liked.

As much as Triss hated confrontation, she knew she could not back down in the face of the inevitable fall out she had caused. Geralt had forgiven her for her misgivings, for the way she so selfishly took advantage of his memory loss, because in his heart he loved her too. It was as though it were meant to be, surely there was a chance it would have happened anyway.

Right?

Again, rationalizations.

She sighed, trying to ignore the subtle ache that had come to take root in her gut, tried to focus on the rain instead. She could see the lightening sky through the crack of the tattered curtains, held together with too many failed attempts of patchwork, and assumed that dawn was rising over Kaer Morhen. She rose from the bed, discarding the low quality sheets to the side and huffed a strand of red hair from her forehead. The stone floor was cold, almost uncomfortably so, a reminder that winter would soon be upon them.

Triss didn’t mind the cold, not really. She was naturally rather warm blooded, she supposed it came with the powers her body had coursing through her. But she had to admit, she enjoyed the warm colors of summer, the vast majority of them when the season changed into autumn.

Which was the current state of the scenery around them, though there was a considerable bite to the air that was not present before. She padded to the window, peeling back the curtain and rubbing the fog from the pane with the heel of her hand. She squinted through the thick rain, breathing hard through her nose as she surveyed the gloomy weather. It didn’t look like she'd be getting out much today.

Which only served to frustrate her further. She was already going stir-crazy after spending the past few weeks here in this desolate castle, with only the knowledge of Geralt's return with hope that Ciri was in tow to bring her comfort. Most days she kept sane by taking the horses out for rides through the winding trails or walks through the colorful trees. The castle was a depressing place, the walls around her disintegrating seemingly everyday, the stone cracked and dry. Cobwebs littered the untouched corners, creeping their way along the stained and forgotten flooring, inching ever closer to the center of the room as though threatening to take over the space completely. She once thought on days such as these it could prove useful to try and clean the place up a bit, perhaps breathe some new life into neglected fortress, but she quickly gave up that idea. It would go unnoticed anyway, and inevitably fall back into a state of ruin before long.

It wasn’t as though much of her efforts were appreciated around here.

It wasn’t as though it would be her new permanent residence.

She shouldn’t say that her efforts go _entirely_ unappreciated; Sure, Lambert was constantly brooding over the fact that their were sorceresses in their keep, his scowling nature unchanged despite the years. She used to wonder what caused the man to be so bitter, what reason he might have for the cold encasement surrounding his heart, but it wasn’t long before she stopped caring for something that frankly wasn’t her problem, and opted to ignore his callous and often insulting remarks towards she, and sorceresses in general.

But then there were the other Witchers to whom her company did not seem quite so bothersome as it did Lambert. There was Eskel, with his kind eyes which only seemed magnified in comparison to his horrifically scarred cheek. He regarded her with the same kindness as those amber orbs, taking time out of his day to always greet her as she passed by, even going as far as to offer assistance when he noticed her puttering around the keep, whether it be cooking a meal or tidying up. And Vesemir too, has always seemed to take a liking to Triss, always welcoming her return with open arms and a beaming smile upon his weathered face.

She knew of both of their feelings towards Yennefer; in fact, she knew very well that all three of them seem to have preferred Triss' presence over the elder sorceress. The thought might have filled her with a smug pride, due to the sheer fact that it was clear that even they would rather see her with Geralt as opposed to Yennefer.

Might have, if the jab of guilt hadn’t been so prevalent to overshadow any good feelings that may come.

And Keira was…well…Keira.

She could actually identify some startling similarities between Keira Metz and Yennefer. Yennefer was more infamous for her biting wit, while Keira tended to shift more towards sarcastic drawls accompanied by a bored tone. Actually, come to think of it, maybe Keira was more akin to Philippa's personality?

Maybe all three of them had rubbed off on one another. Maybe Triss was the strange one.

Not that she could pretend she was all that was kind and good, either, just because she may have more charm on her lips.

But Keira was kind to Triss regardless, the two never had an issue with one another before. And the blonde sorceress didn’t unnerve her nearly as much as Yennefer did-as much as she always had.

The witchers, Keira included, were likely still asleep at this hour of the day. Triss always was an early riser, while simultaneously being the last one awake by usual happenstance. Triss didn’t sleep well.

She didn’t want to think of why that was.

It's not that she minded the alone time, though. She was used to it, thoroughly accustomed to it, spent much of her life living that way. She had a hard time feeling as though she fit in anywhere comfortably, not at Aretuza with the other sorceresses, and it certainly hadn’t followed her into her adult life either.

Not until Geralt.

She padded down the eerily dark spiral staircase after slipping into a robe and slippers, lighting up the torches with her magic along the way. She moved quietly from the master room of the tower, Geralt's room _-their_ room, as to not wake any of the sleeping occupants, until she found herself in the underwhelming kitchen.

Finding herself isolated most mornings only increased the desire to keep herself occupied, thus beginning the daily ritual of making breakfast for the household. She didn’t mind that Lambert shoveled his down without a second glance her way or a ‘thank you' to be heard, or that Keira spent more time picking at the food than actually eating it as her nose crinkled in a disappointed frown, undoubtedly wishing it was a luxurious caviar spread instead. Eskel and Vesemir always said their thanks, but it wasn’t for them either.

It was really just to give her something to do, so her mind would not run off on her as it usually did so easily.

This particular morning was no different from the previous ones; she busies herself in the cold storage, huffing a sigh of frustration through gritted teeth. Meat, meat, and _more meat_. She had made the mistake of making a comment regarding the lack of other produce in front of Lambert once before, which earned her the sharp quip of “ _My apologies, let me just run down to the fucking market at the base of the mountain.”_

Obviously, no such market existed for miles.

But how bloody hard would it be to get some vegetables growing here? She didn’t dare say so, knowing very well that there would be no one around in the summer months to tend to such things as they were all off on the path.

At least they had chickens roaming about, which allowed the option of at least some fresh eggs. And Triss made sure to bring spices along with her this time around, so the copious amounts of meat they were to inevitably ingest didn’t have to be so painfully bland.

She heaved out a large chunk of venison that they had been chipping away at for the past few mornings now. Eggs and venison. Eggs and beef. Eggs and chicken. Repeat.

She placed a pan on the burner and produced the flame, slapping the meat down in poorly hidden contempt and set off to collect the rest of the supplies. Chipped plates, crude cutlery, mugs that she felt she had to constantly wash because somehow the cobwebs always found their way into the closed cupboards.

Once the table was set and she had everything cooking on a low heat, she occupied her time by at least giving the kitchen a sweep for what felt like the thousandth time, even though it never seemed to make a difference. She wondered what Kaer Morhen might have looked like in it's prime.

It was a rather silly thought; she hated to give in to such stereotypes, but it was likely that anywhere inhabited by witchers was probably not a place that held hygiene or décor to a high priority.

Once everything was cooked and seasoned to as close to perfection as circumstances would allow, she placed it all into a large cooking pot to keep it's warmth until the others decided to roll out of bed. She shoved the pot into the oven and set out into the main hall.

Much like the rest of the keep, it's strangely guarded by fearsome cobwebs and an impenetrable layer of dust. It's bigger here, wider, the walls seem to stretch forever into the high ceiling creating space for even the smallest of sounds to travel and become huge themselves, as large as the room.

Its lonelier here.

And dirtier, too.

Gods, what was all this junk anyway? Broken shards of mirrors and glass lay scattered about the floor, reminding her why slippers was always a good idea, first for the dirt, second for the danger. Forgotten crates containing gods-knows-what stacked haphazardly in the corners, untouched by hands for what must’ve been years.

So why was it here? Why was any of it here?

Sometimes Triss just wanted to scream if for no other reason but to fill the silence. Because contrary to ones beliefs, there _is_ a difference between quiet and silence.

She had every intention of heading outside to tend to the horses. Being with the horses made her feel, for lack of a better word, _good_. Horses didn’t have snide comments at the ready. Their eyes were not violet and searching, practically brimming with well deserved judgment. They didn’t have quips about sorceresses being a pain in the ass.

The thought brings her out of herself if but a moment. She realized rather quickly as she neared the large, creaking wooden doors which led to the outside, that it was utterly foolish to venture out there clad in nothing but a robe and slippers. She supposed it could wait until after breakfast, supposed that she should ready herself first-

An abrupt tapping sound jarred her from her indecisive thoughts, causing her to stumble on her way back in the direction of the kitchen, her slipper catching and causing her to nearly fall on her face. Her hand clutched her robe, her _heart_ , as it thudded madly in an adrenaline fueled rhythm from being startled so suddenly.

She glared towards the source of the intruding sound to which she owed her mild heart attack to; There, at the nearly blackened stained glass window, a figure misshapen due to the dense fog. The sound came again.

_Tap tap tap._

The figure hopped around erratically, and it dawned on her that it was a raven, a _raven!_ Which sent her heart kicking up in beats all over again.

Maybe it was news about Ciri's whereabouts!

She pushed open the window with a grunt of effort, the hinges stuck with layers of rust and grime. The soaked raven hops just inside the sill with a soft fluttering of it's wings to expel the droplets of water that beaded to it's feathers.

“Poor little thing,” Triss murmured, giving the bird a gentle swipe of her hand to assist it's endeavors. With a careful hand she untied the small parchment that was strapped to it's leg, and with a final puff of it's feathers it was off again, into the harsh elements of the outdoors. She watched it go into the distance until it was only a black spot, then it was gone.

She unfurled the parchment with eager hands, her eyes moving at lightening speed over the articulately hand-written words, complete with the King's seal just at the bottom.

The King of Kovir.

She can feel her lips spreading into a near face-splitting grin, her heart beginning to pick up again. It was almost to good to be true, so she read the missive again and again, and though she knew that there was a certain amount of danger to come before she could even consider it as a _real_ possibility, she was elated to know she had something waiting for her on the other side of the impending madness.

“What's that?”

Triss nearly jumped out of her skin, for the second time in just a few short minutes. This had her fuming slightly, feeling a warm blush of annoyance traveling up the back of her neck, mixed with the sting of embarrassment that she could startle so easily.

She turned to find Keira staring at her expectantly, looking at her as though she were the strange one for jumping the way she did, her eyes absent of anything close to apologetic.

Her eyes narrowed at the blonde sorceress. “Keira, what is your _problem?”_

Keira’s eyebrows drew together, shooting her a look of bewildered ignorance in place of a response.

“You scared me half to death,” Triss pointed out, as though it were obvious. “Don't just go…go _sneaking_ up on people like that!”

The woman scoffed, waving a dismissive palm in her face. “I hardly snuck up on you. It's not my fault your time spent in Novigrad has you afraid of your own shadow.”

“I wasn’t-I'm not-" Triss flustered before huffing in irritation. “I am _not_ afraid of my own shadow. You snuck up on me.”

Though if she were being honest with herself, some ghosts may have managed to follow her from the darkened streets of Novigrad.

But Triss wasn’t going to be honest with herself this time.

“ _Uh huh,”_ Keira said disbelievingly, still making no attempts to admit any sort of fault. She flipped her short blonde hair to the side, which was when Triss realized the woman was already made up for the day. It wasn’t as though she was surprised, Keira wasn’t the type to show face until her makeup was on. It suddenly occurred to Triss how lesser she felt, standing next to the woman with her sleep mussed hair, clad in nothing but her robe and slippers, and she clutched the fabric tighter to herself.

“So,” Keira started, not noticing the movement. She gestured to the parchment still in Triss' grasp, “Whats that?”

Triss swallowed. “It's…” She was unsure why she was hesitating. It's not as though it would matter to Keira; the woman was practically the perfect candidate for picturesque indifference towards others lives. “It's from King Tankred. He's offered me a position as his advisor.” Simple and to the point.

As expected, Keira gives her a small _hmpf_ of indifference, before striding towards the kitchen, where Triss began to follow her. “This is good news, I assume?” the blonde woman threw over her shoulder. “Of course it is, you deserve it after all. He must be pleased with the liberation of the mages.”

“He is,” Triss agreed once they had made it to the kitchen. She went back to the oven as she heard Keira slip into a seat at the table. “And I'm relieved that part is over, too. Maybe now I can finally do some _good_ at his side, make a difference, you know?”

Keira hummed behind her, the sound just oozing of disinterest once again, which has Triss' eyes rolling. She never understood why Keira insisted on probing when she truly didn’t care, anyway. The woman likely thrived on gossip, especially if it suited her.

Triss retrieved the pot from the oven and fixed the other sorceress a plate of the still-warm meal she had made. She received no thanks (as she expected), though she did hear the cluttering of the cutlery as Keira began to cut up the meat when she turned her back to plate her own.

“And where does Geralt fit in all of this?”

She faltered; the hand that had been absentmindedly stabbing into a fatty piece of meat nearly let the fork fall away, had she not executed a measly recovery at the last second. Something began to bloom outwards from her chest, something cold, something dreadful. She was so caught up in the moment of sheer happiness that she could ever receive such an offer, she had forgotten all about Geralt and the new life they had promised to one another.

She tried to quell the pit that threatened to swallow her, to stop herself from spiraling as she was so prone to doing. Surely, Geralt would follow her, he told her he loved her, and Geralt was not one to throw that word around without sincere thought.

Was he?

She wasn’t foolish enough to think he would give up a life on the path for her, nor would she try to tie him down in such a way. But, his permanent place of residence was to be with her, would it not? Would Geralt really care of where his permanent residence lie, so long as they had each other?

She had to believe it, she had to-

“-The man is a wanderer, after all.” She had barely heard Keira continuing on through the rushing noise in her ears. “You know, a life on the Path and whatever have you.”

It irked Triss to hear Keira speak so candidly about Geralt as if she _knew_ him. Despite her lack of desire for confrontation, she found herself whirling around to face the woman, her eyes hardened. “I never suggested he didn’t continue his life on the Path. We both have our own goals, we simply have to work around them. What makes you think Geralt would take issue with moving to Kovir with me to meet said goals there?”

Keira scoffed, sending further annoyance tingly down her spine as she gripped the countertop. “I didn’t say he would take issue, I'm just saying that it's something to think about. You know how much Kaer Morhen means to him-"

“What would you know about what anything means to him?”

Keira barked out another laugh, flipping her short blonde hair. “I _slept_ with him, remember? That's really all I need to know a man.”

Triss felt the color drain from her face. Suddenly, her palms felt slippery on the countertop. She tried to tighten her grip to no avail, her fingers weak and trembling.

What-you-"

Keira rolled her eyes as she picked at her food. “Oh, did you not know? _Relax_ , it was long before he found you in Novigrad. A means to an end was all it was.”

How could she be so-so _flippant_ about this?

“A means to an end?” Triss said in a harsh whisper, desperately trying to keep for voice even, lest her jealousy embarrass her further. “What does that even mean?”

Keira stopped picking at her food, shooting her an exasperated glare. “Exactly what it sounds like, Triss. I required the mages notes, and Geralt, well…he's a man. A simple one at that. He wanted as all men do.”

She turned back to the food, unable to face the woman and her words any longer. She looked down to the plate she had been fixing for herself, her appetite vanishing into thin air as sickness took place in her gut instead. Her face burned with pinpricks of humiliation, with anger of the knowledge that he slept with Keira, Keira, who was next, Philippa? Did Geralt have some sort of sick goal to plough every Sorceress to hail from Aretuza?

She dropped what she was doing and turned on her heel, discarding the untouched food in the waste on her way from the room. She tried not to think of it as fleeing, but she was more than done with this conversation and Keira's shallow attitude.

“Oh come on!” she heard Keira call, “I'm _sorry!”_

She was not sorry.

But Triss was.

* * *

The remainder of her day consisted of actively avoiding Keira, dodging Lambert and his rueful glares, whilst also trying to maintain a sense of normalcy to deter anyone else from asking about her foul mood. Triss was normally the type to let things roll off her shoulders, at least outwardly, while compartmentalizing her inner turmoil to stew in the back of her mind. Perhaps it wasn’t healthy, but she had not the time nor care to face such things head on just yet.

Not until it was to be thrown in her face, surely in the coming days.

More than once, she recognized her feelings as that of selfishness; maybe Yennefer wasn’t thinking of this as she was, her focus was definitely on finding Ciri first and foremost, as everyone’s should be. But it was the one thing that would not file away neatly in her brain as the other stuff did. She knew that their love triangle was frivolous at best when compared to their current situation, yet it seemed to agitate her above all else.

Maybe Yennefer was better at compartmentalizing than she was.

But of course she was.

Yennefer's greatest annoyance was the display of feelings. If Triss didn’t know any better, she downright despised it. This could play to her advantage, and maybe it could afford her the time to dodge the sickening conversation just a little while longer.

And now there was Keira she had the luxury of thinking about once she found her and Geralt in the same room. _Gods_ , how she wished she didn’t feel anything, much like the rest of the Sorceresses.

It was this train of thought that forced her to look Keira in the eye come later in the day. To swallow that bubble of humiliation and jealousy down to the depths of her pained stomach, and pretend as though nothing were amiss. She would not, _could_ _not_ show weakness to the likes of her, of Yennefer. With her chin held high she fixed dinner for the group, plated their meals, and sat down to force herself into amicable conversation as though she truly wasn’t bothered.

As amicable as it could be, with Keira and Lambert exchanging increasingly cutting jabs against one another.

It started when Lambert let out the most disgusting, goblet trembling burp as he pounded his fist to the table. Naturally, Keira shot him an equally disgusted glare accompanied by the roll of her eyes.

“What?” Lambert sniped, narrowing his cat-eyes at the woman. “Sorry this isn't no palace, sweetheart.”

The pet name only seemed to further her disdain. “You’re right, how terrible foolish of me to forget that you’re a _boor_.”

“You must have also forgotten that you don't have to eat here.”

“And, that while your witcher companions seem to have the basic knowledge of manners, that it must be something only you sorely lacked in your pathetic excuse of an upbringing-"

“-listen here, b-!”

“ _Lambert_!” Vesemir said harshly, leaning his sturdy frame over the table from a few seats away, “That's enough, both of you.”

Triss could feel the throb of a headache beginning to seize at her temples, but before she could contribute to the conversation in the form of a subject change, the sound of the doors to the keep opening echoed off of the walls of the main hall, alerting the tables attention towards the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this story is really getting away from me lol. It may be my longest one yet! Also, emphasis on the slow burn tag. Sorry in advance I guess?

Nothing could have prepared Triss for what came through that door.

She cursed herself for being so foolish to believe she had more time. To even begin to question if she _deserved_ such a privilege, for the Gods were truly laughing as they punished her for her wicked ways. Yes, this was the karma she was so justly and swiftly dealt, but she was not prepared.

Cold dread rang through her body, numbing her fingertips and toes, and she inwardly cursed again for having such a reaction because she too was a Sorceress, Gods and their will be damned. Her heart skipped as it began to thud in her tightened throat, the flame in her stomach lit anew with a vengeance, and she blinked her eyes hard as though she could will away the image before her.

But she found she could not look away. The longer she looked, the more perturbed she felt. For the longer she looked, the more she realized that something was terribly, inexplicably _wrong_.

For there at the threshold, dressed in a signature black, white, and expertly tailored fitted jacket, with the finest fur decorated over her shoulders, complete with knee-high black leathered boots over matching riding pants, stood Yennefer of Vengerberg.

Triss knew Yennefer, in fact if she were boasting, she could say she knew her rather well. Hence why when her gaze fell upon her now, she knew immediately that something was certainly off about her demeanor. It didn’t aid Yennefer any that she appeared to be soaking wet from being caught in the downpour; Yennefer had never been to Kaer Morhen, so it was likely she had ridden on horseback for sometime before arriving. It _almost_ made Triss feel smug in a way, to see the normally put-together sorceress in a state of such disarray, the way she resembled a drowned rat, how her perfected locks of hair now rested in tangles, clinging to her face-

-her abnormally, shockingly _pale_ face.

“ _Great,”_ she heard Lambert utter under his breath. “Her _majesty_ has arrived.”

But it was her gait that threw her off the most. She certainly still moved with a purpose, her chin sticking out almost defiantly as she approached closer. But something in her balance was skewed, she moved forward on shaking legs, her sense of direction seemingly fractured around the edges. No, Yennefer had never been here, but her gaze didn’t remain on the table long, as she seemingly headed for the exit to the main hall, in the direction of the kitchens, whether she knew that’s where she was going or not. Moving as though she simply wanted to get out of that hall as quickly as possible.

Keira snorted as Yennefer drew past them, her walk still wobbly and unbalanced slightly. “What, is she drunk or something?”

Triss shot her a look, before fixing her gaze upon Yennefer again. Her jaw was set in a grimace, her brow furrowed and dampened with what she thought was surely the rain, but now she wondered-

“She's not drunk,” Triss muttered, alarm edging into her voice. “Somethings _wrong_.”

She was suddenly pushing herself from the table, seemingly unnoticed as everyone else resumed their meals as though nothing was happening. It irked her how little everyone seemed to care, _she_ was the one who Yennefer would likely tear a strip off of first, yet here she was diving headfirst into the fire, because someone _had_ to, and no one else _would_.

Due to the fact that Yennefer had never stepped foot in this keep, she could only be trying to get somewhere where nobody else was, wherever that may be. Triss followed her as she half-staggered into the kitchen, a gloved hand coming to steady herself on the countertop.

“Yennefer?” Triss tried, her voice lilted in apprehensive question as she edged closer to the woman.

The raven haired woman lurched suddenly, a terrible gagging sound tearing through the air as she doubled over and heaved. Vomit rushed out like a torrent, splattering the cold stone below and onto her already muddied boots. She gasped and heaved again, sending more of the foul smelling bile spilling forth, her arm which held her up trembling under great strain.

“Yenna!” Triss gasped, too shocked to even register the old nickname leaving her mouth before she could even think better of it. She moved forward on hurried legs, her hand coming to grip Yennefer's elbow while the other flew to her waist, and just in time for the woman to slowly sink to her knees.

Her hair hung down in tangles as she took deep, gasping breaths. Triss reached a tentative hand to those tangles, her fingers trembling just slightly, but she convinced herself that it was more from the adrenaline than anything else. When she tucked the damp strands behind Yennefer's ear, the elder sorceress turned her head slightly, locking her violet eyes on Triss' own blues.

But only for a moment, before she grimaced again and turned away, her brows knitted together in a pained expression.

“ _Gods_ , not _you_ …” she groaned, nearly inaudibly.

But Triss heard it.

_Not you. Not you._

The words cut through her like a knife; she had been expecting Yennefer's scorn, in fact, she had been expecting far worse than the mere disappointment expressed in those three little words. And yet…

And yet it didn’t hurt any less.

She swallowed hard, forcing her words out of her ears and stifling the ever growing pain that gnawed at her stomach. She labored on as though they were never said, steeling her will into determination as if she could ignore the pain inflicted upon her.

“Let me help you,” she said softly, her words coming out meek and small.

She felt Yennefer tense further in her grip, her breathing erratic and shallow. Even now, she was weighing her options, even when she already knew she didn’t really have any to work with. As though she'd rather crawl through the pile of vomit she created before accepting Triss' help, and the knowledge of this only grew the pit in her stomach.

“Alright,” she gritted out through clenched teeth, finally conceding. Triss took it as a small win, and she breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Get me to a bloody toilet then.”

At risk of saying something that would change Yennefer's mind, she merely nodded as she pulled up on her elbow and slung an arm around her middle, steadying the woman. She thought of where to take her as she lead her to the stairs; but of course, the most logical room would be Geralt's. The top of the tower, while being a more strenuous trip, would provide the privacy that Yennefer surely needed in a time like this. Equipped with it's own private latrine, she would be far away from listening ears and could easily forgo seeing anyone else.

Though there was the very loud part of her that loathed the idea of giving up the space that was now rightfully hers.

She found it surprisingly easy to quiet that part of her, though. Strangely enough, the desire to care for the woman properly by giving her what she needed, seemed to overpower any jealous feelings she may have over being pushed from the room that she and Geralt shared together.

She could have time to be raw about it later. Right now, Yennefer needed this more than Triss needed a bed that she slept in alone anyway.

The long walk up the stairs was horrendous. More than once Yennefer had to stop to catch her breath, though thankfully no more bouts of vomiting occurred. But Triss was alarmed, sorceresses didn’t catch sicknesses like regular folk did. It reminded her of a time when she too, had grown exceptionally ill during her stay at Kaer Morhen many years ago. At the time, it was believed to have been something she ingested, be it bad fish or something of the sort. She wondered if Yennefer had fallen victim to the same fate, or worse.

She didn’t think now was the best time to strike up the conversation of Yennefer's eating habits, not with the way her breathing was labored so. Even Yennefer had no energy to make such quips regarding the long trip up the stairs, nor questions about where she was being lead to. For now, it would be wise to remain focused on the task at hand. Get her to the toilet, clean up the mess, then maybe she could look into a potion to help settle her.

Using one arm to support Yennefer, the other gave the door a heavy push from it's stiff place in the frame. She shuffled Yennefer quickly to the latrine just off of the main room, where the door was promptly slammed in her face before she could say a word. She stood there, her mouth hanging open wordlessly, before remembering herself as well as Yennefer's privacy. She likely wouldn’t appreciate Triss lingering outside.

She headed back down the stairs with the intention of cleaning up the mess, where she found Keira with a hand clasped to her mouth and nose and a mildly horrified expression in her eyes.

“ _Ugh_ ,” she said, clearly disgusted. Triss shot her an exasperated look as she grabbed a mop from the closet. “What on earth happened to her?”

“I don't know,” Triss said as she worried her lip. “I'm worried, though. I don't know if it's food poisoning or what, but she's in a bad way.”

“ _Hmpf_ , well, in any case it should provide us some relief of her attitude for awhile longer.”

“That's not funny, Keira,” Triss snapped as she set to mopping up the vile pool on the stone. 

Keira raised an eyebrow. “What do you care? I thought you hated her anyway.”

Triss faltered slightly as she dunked the mop in the bucket. “I…I don't _hate_ her,” she said softly, though she didn’t elaborate further. She could practically feel the rolling of Keira's eyes behind her.

“ _Right_. Well you have fun playing doctor to a woman who'd sooner push you down those stairs. Goodnight, Triss."

She waited until the sound of her footsteps retreated before she released the breath she had been holding in her chest. She did her best not to let her words linger in her head, to ignore that grating feeling that maybe, just maybe, she was helping her _because_ Yennefer's hatred was so rightly justified. 

As if anything she could do could possibly make up for what she's done.

Once satisfied with one task completed, she set out to brew some potions that should hopefully reverse whatever was affecting Yennefer so severely. She couldn’t ingest them herself due to her ridiculous and inconvenient allergy, but she was rather adept at brewing them. Some even boasted that she was a master alchemist when it came to healing potions, and she took pride in the fact that this was one thing she could do right for Yennefer.

The problem was, she was unsure of what exactly ailed her.

She sat at the crude alchemy table in the main hall, humming over the ingredients she had to work with. Thankfully, they kept a healthy supply at Kaer Morhen, due to the fact that Witcher's were always brewing potions of their own. 

She decided on master strength White Raffard's decoction, as it was good for curing general ailments, as well as White Honey, to remove any possible toxicity she may have coursing through her body. With her skill, she was able to brew them at a faster rate than most other alchemists, though she was careful to brew them to perfection first and foremost. She figured Yennefer would appreciate the time alone for awhile anyway.

Satisfied, she bottled the potions and stopped at the kitchens to grab a pitcher of water as well. She remembered how dehydrated she became when she too was stricken with such an illness, and from the look of Yennefer and the weakness in her muscles, she hadn’t drank in quite some time.

Her confidence, once bolstered by the sense of accomplishment, now wavered with each ascending step back to the bedroom. Her nerves began to fray once more, as she realized that this was likely when they were to actually speak to one another for the first time in ages, for the first time since the _incident_.

No, not the incident. Since Triss so cruelly betrayed her. She might as well call it for what it was.

She tried to steel herself and swallow that lump of indecision that ached in her throat when she reached the landing, but the way her fist feebly knocked on the door only seemed to echo how she was truly feeling. 

“Yennefer?” she called in a small, choked voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yenna?”

There was that blasted nickname again.

There was no response. She carefully opened the door, peering on the otherside to find the room surprisingly empty. Guilt bubbled up her chest again as her eyes locked on the still shut bathroom door. How long had she been downstairs, while Yennefer was still laid up in the latrine? Even if everything she was doing down there was for the other woman's benefit, it was as though the gravity of Yennefer's situation was really setting in.

She placed the potion and the water on the bedside table, having to muster up the courage all over again for her legs to carry her to the stubborn door. She once again found herself cursing her nerves, and she wondered if the feeling would ever cease.

She knocked once again. “Yennefer?” she tried.

There was silence for a moment, spiking her nerves from anxious to downright panic, then, “ _Triss?”_

She pursed her lips; she hadn’t heard Yennefer's voice sound so…so _vulnerable_ , perhaps ever in her long life. It made sense, she had never seen her in such a way either. But to hear it with her own ears was frankly rather _jarring_.

She pushed open the door, her breath catching at the sight she found.

Yennefer was on her knees, her still gloved hands grasping the edge of the porcelain sink in a near vise like grip. Her head hang low, whether in shame or exhaustion, she didn’t know. If she could guess, it was a mixture of both.

It was heartbreaking.

“Oh Yenna,” she breathed, not realizing she even said her words aloud. Without having to think twice she moved forward, gripping the older woman under the arms and pulling her to her feet. The grunt of effort on Yennefer's part made the pang in her heart worsen, and carefully, gently, she led her to the bed and sat her down.

Yennefer exhaled a trembling breath was she sank to her side on her elbow; the mere steps it took to get there draining her greatly. Triss took the opportunity to fully take in Yennefer's appearance now that she was facing her, and it was a pitiful sight to behold indeed. A shocking change from the commanding aura the woman usually carried wherever she went.

Her face was white as a sheet, glistening with a sickening shine of swear that beaded down her forehead and trailed to her neck. Her once vibrant, expressive violet eyes seemed dulled to a darkened pastel, accentuated by heavy almost bruise like circles around them. Her lips were cracked, likely by dehydration, and she could see where she had tried and failed to wipe vomit from her chin and throat. It covered her chest, matted deep into the furs of her coat, and upon further inspection, even her gloves and sleeved were soiled. It occurred to her that Yennefer was likely sick for some time, had stopped many times along her journey to the keep, pushing herself to just make it here in one piece.

Her stomach knotted with an all encompassing sympathy for her; while she knew many would delight in seeing Yennefer of Vengerberg so far from grace, she absolutely did not. It was frightening, it was _unnatural_.

She swallowed hard and was quick to avert her gaze. Triss’ face had a nasty habit of betraying her emotions, and she was sure Yennefer would not appreciate her pitied expression. So she did what could only feel natural at the time, which was to act.

Kneeling down, she began to undo the laces of her leather boots. She moved quickly, partially so Yennefer could sooner relax, but more so to seem busy as to avoid the woman speaking with her. If her gaze remained focused, maybe Yennefer wouldn’t bother.

With each boot now removed, her hands went to Yennefer's gloves, pulling them off with ease as Yennefer just held her trembling hands limply in front of her. She discarded them on the floor with the soiled footwear, but when her hands moved with the intention to undo the lacing which held her coat together-

“ _No_.”

Her tone certainly held more bite then it had thus far. Blue eyes met violet as her hands stilled on the lacing, their gazes locked in a silent challenge. She saw how Yennefer tried to fix her with a hardened expression, but her gaze was weak, her eyes far too fatigued to hold their trademark menacing glare. Even her fingers that tried to grip Triss' in an effort to stop her was devoid of any strength or determination.

Of course, Yennefer was being ridiculous. She couldn’t very well lie here in the state she was in, she knew it, and Triss knew it, and Yennefer was well aware of this fact no matter how vehemently she may deny it. But the woman's damnable pride was always an obstacle for those around her.

Undeterred, Triss held her stare, her fingers still pinching the damp lacing. “Let me help you, Yenna,” she said again, echoing her words she spoke earlier, saying them with a finality that left no misunderstanding that this was happening, one way or another, Yennefer just needed to stop fighting her.

She watched as the older woman's throat bobbed, as though she was literally choking down what little pride she still stubbornly clung to, and her hands reluctantly fell away again. 

It was Triss who broke their stare down, her eyes resuming the task she had started. She removed the coat where it joined the growing pile on the floor, before peeling the white blouse which had drenched in sweat from her body, leaving her in a black lace bra.

Next came her trousers which she admittedly pulled off her rather quickly. Obviously, Yennefer was almost too aware of the beauty she held, but having Triss undress her due to her weakened state-

She chanced a glance up at the woman as she removed the trousers from around her ankles, and found Yennefer's pained expression coupled with an averted gaze and pursed lips, her once paled face now slightly colored with _shame_.

It only made Triss feel more sorry for her, and wish ever harder that she didn’t have to do this.

One might argue that she _didn’t_ have an obligation to do this, but…she did.

Yennefer's body broke out in a near imperceptible trembling, which Triss realized she had begun to shiver when the air met her skin. She draped the sheet over her, forgoing the thick blanket until she was finished her task. 

“Hold on,” she murmured, touching her hand to her arm. Her skin was fire through the fabric.

She returned to the bathroom and filled a wash basin with warm water, grabbing along a chamber pot in case she was sick again for good measure. Grabbing a cloth along the way, she re-entered the bedroom to find Yennefer staring at sheets, her eyes devoid of any emotion that could be deciphered. Triss moved to place the basin on the end table and the pot next to the bed when she spoke.

“Is this his bed?”

Triss froze as her blood cooled to ice, the once ebbing pain in her belly now stabbing at her again like a pick. She cleared her throat and tried to steady her voice.

“Yes,” was the quiet response.

Yennefer's nails dug into the sheets. “You’ve slept here?”

Triss felt her eyes slip shut, turning back to the basin with a wave of nausea coming over her. The pain flared further, the pick digging in deeper-

 _“Yes,_ ” she said again, and she waited. Waited for Yennefer to inevitably throw her out. She dipped the cloth and waited further, too cowardly to even face the woman yet. She waited until she couldn’t any longer, until the cloth was more than thoroughly soaked and she had nothing left to occupy her time and she was then forced to face the woman again. She _had_ to, she had been asking for it. She couldn’t cower any longer.

But Yennefer still held that blank stare into the sheets, as though they would give her the answer she was looking for. She didn’t ask for Triss to take her elsewhere, as she thought she might have. Nor did she make any indication that she wanted Triss out of her sight, either. It was near impossible to tell what the woman was thinking, but if she could guess, she was carefully masking her anger. She hadn’t the energy to unleash the wrath that she really wanted to, so she was filing it away for a more opportune moment. Yennefer was like that, she was cunning, and knew when to strike when it would hurt most. It was working, as it put Triss on edge even further, for really she just wanted to get it over with. Now she would have to continue to wait for the hammer to drop, and Yennefer knew it.

Triss gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the cloth lamely in front of her. She took a couple of breaths, trying to calm her nerves. If she didn’t do this now she might not ever get to it, Yennefer would surely get tired of her awkward perching next to her if she hadn’t already. 

Her thoughts were interrupted when Yennefer suddenly shot forth over the edge of the bed, gripping the pot and pulling it to her as she began to vomit violently again. The sounds of her retching had Triss forgetting all about her conflicted feelings of indecision as the only instinct that ever came naturally to her took over instead.

To care. To heal.

She held back Yennefer's hair as she lurched into the pot, and gently, she pressed the dampened cloth to the back of her neck. She thought she might have heard a small sigh of relief, though it were possible she was just imagining it. Yennefer lay gasping for air, her hands coming to grip the sheets tightly after placing the pot back down.

Triss bit her lip. “What happened to you?” she asked softly, as she continued to press the cloth to her neck.

“I-I don't know,” Yennefer groaned, resting her head against her arm. “I bought food from a market in a s-small village in Skellige before I came, bloody merchant must have sold me bad f-fish-" she lurched slightly at the mention of food. “-I'll fucking _kill_ him.” She finished softly.

An unsettled feeling weighed heavy in Triss' chest. “You don't think he knew who you were?” she questioned timidly. Skellige was a safe place for mages, but with that being said, there were always humans everywhere, through all walks of life and regions, that may hold grudges against sorceresses for one reason or another. They couldn’t put it past any of them to act radically.

“It's…It's possible…”

Triss was now thoroughly worried. She stood from the bed and placed the cloth back in the basin, and grabbed both potions from where they sat.

“You need to drink these, Yenna,” she nearly begged.

“I can't keep anything down!” she snapped back, but Triss would not be deterred.

  
“I know, I know, but you need to try. They will work quickly, if there’s even a chance you’ve been poisoned-"

“- _fine!_ ” Yennefer begrudged, snatching the small vials weakly from Triss' grasp. Triss reached over to pull the corks for her and sat back and she watched Yennefer down the first bottle, the White Raffards decoction. It was the more foul tasting of the two, which was probably why Yennefer chose it first. At least she could use the White Honey as a crude chaser.

She lurched again, her jaw set tightly and her eyes screwed shut, focusing all her energy on keeping the liquid down. A beat, then she took a shuddering breath while Triss simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief. Next was the White Honey, which went down considerably easier. Yennefer then leaned back, breathing hard. The potions should begin to heal her now. It was likely that the sickness would remain for some time, but at least the effects would now be reversed and she would begin to heal from whatever it was that plagued her now. She just needed to keep the liquid down for the next hour or so.

Yennefer's face had relaxed slightly as exhaustion began to take hold of her. The tremble that rippled through her body reminded Triss of what still needed to be done, and she took the cloth from the basin once more and wrung out the excess water. The sound had Yennefer's eyes opening again, to watch Triss settle back on the edge of the bed and bring the damp cloth to her mouth. She wiped in gentle strokes across her lips, under her chin, cleaning up any remaining bile that had clung to her skin, before sweeping down her throat to dab at the sweat that had gathered in her clavicle.

She was so lost in the motions she hadn’t even registered her other hand coming to Yennefer's hair, her nails raking soothing motions into her heated scalp. Gently she pushed back her raven locks, and this time she _did_ hear the soft whimper that escaped the woman's lips.

Yennefer looked almost serene, even if she had stiffened slightly when the cloth first met her skin. Triss couldn’t help but feel a little elated that Yennefer was actually allowing her to do this. Sickness or not, she never would have thought there would be any lifetime where Yennefer's pride would lose in the face of what she actually needed.

Maybe they would be strangely okay. Maybe Yennefer was actually thankful. Maybe-

Her violet eyes shot open as soon as the sound left her throat. And when those piercing eyes met Triss' she swallowed hard, and her breathing picked up just ever so slightly. Triss' own eyes furrowed together as she waited for Yennefer to speak, as she looked like she very much had something to say.

“I-It won't work.”

Triss' confusion only grew. Her hands slowed in her hair, though they remained nestled in her locks all the same. “What-?”

Yennefer's eyes grew hard, the once dull purple hues now blazing once more, looking very much like her old self in this instant. It sent Triss' insides into an unpleasant roil, and she found herself recoiling from the woman.

“No matter what you do,” she said in a low voice, her words no longer trembling. “No matter how gently you may clean me, how much comfort you try to bring me, _nothing_ will absolve you of your _guilt_.”

Her tone was stinging venom, burning it's way into Triss' ears, heating her face and sending flame plummeting to the pit of her stomach. It was no longer a pick, it was a _knife_ -

“I would sooner see myself choke on my own vomit before I accept such…such _bullshit_ from you.” Yennefer's hands flew to Triss’ wrists as her voice raised several octaves, shoving her away purposefully, albeit weakly. “ _Now leave me!_ ”

Triss was stunned. Thankfully, not too stunned to move away from Yennefer and her cutting words that ripped through Triss as though she were made of parchment. She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to ignore the burning sensation in her stomach as she stood from the bed, discarding the cloth into the basin while she was at it.

Though not stunned enough to stop herself from pulling the blanket over Yennefer, ( _Stupid, Triss!_ ), before averting her eyes in shameful guilt once more and hurrying herself from the room. She didn’t even bother to remove her clothes from the closet or to retrieve her trunk from the foot of the bed, for she surely couldn’t accomplish such a feat after such a harsh scolding from the elder sorceress.

Instead she went to the door with glassy eyes and a lead weighted heart, wrenching the wood from the frame and practically throwing herself to the merciful safety behind it. She let it close behind her, unable to stop the tears from pathetically falling down her reddened cheeks as she stifled a sob and leaned her back to the door. 

She was such an _idiot_. Such a cruel, disloyal, foolish excuse of an idiot.

She willed herself from the doorway to begin her shameful trek to one of the other vacant rooms, her feet dragging as though made of dead weight, matching the feeling in her stomach, in her very open and freshly bled soul.

The walk down the stairs was more than painful.

It was _torture_.


End file.
